Unspoken

explained the late hour by saying that he’d been watching a movie on TV, and so he had postponed his run. There was a lighted ski trail nearby, so there was no problem with running at night. He hadn’t seen or heard anything unusual.
    Knutas’s ruminations were interrupted by the phone ringing. It was Johan Berg, who told him about the carpentry work that Dahlström had done for Bertil and Astrid Persson on Backgatan. Knutas was surprised.
    “Strange that we didn’t hear about this before. Do you have the names of anyone else he did work for?”
    “No, the old man wasn’t happy when I said that I’d have to tell the police. But you could check with the local folklore society—that’s where he heard about Dahlström.”
    “All right. Anything else?”
    “No.”
    “Thanks for calling.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    Knutas put down the phone, thinking about what he’d learned. So Dahlström had done work for people in their homes. The information opened a whole new avenue. In his mind he sent Johan words of gratitude.
    Fanny went straight home from school. At the door she met her mother’s boyfriend, Jack. He glanced at her but didn’t even bother to say hi. He just hurried past. The door to the apartment wasn’t locked, and Fanny realized at once that something was wrong. She peeked in the kitchen, but it was empty.
    She found her mother stretched out on the sofa under a blanket. The blanket had slipped to one side, revealing that she was naked. On the table stood empty beer and wine bottles next to an ashtray filled with cigarette butts.
    “Mamma,” said Fanny, shaking her by the shoulder. “Wake up!”
    Not a hint of life.
    “Mamma,” Fanny repeated with a sob rising in her throat. She shook her harder. “Mamma, please wake up.”
    Finally her mother opened her eyes and said in a slurred voice, “I have to throw up. Get me a bucket.”
    “Which one?”
    “Bring the one under the kitchen counter. The red one.”
    Fanny dashed out to the kitchen to get the bucket, but she didn’t find it in time. Her mother threw up all over the rug.
    She helped her mother into the bedroom, pulled the covers over her, and set the bucket next to the bed. Spot had started licking up the vomit. She chased him away and then used some paper towels to wipe up the worst of it. But she could see that the rug would have to be washed. She ran hot water in the bathtub, poured in some laundry soap, and then lowered the rug into the water. She left it to soak in the tub while she cleaned up the living room, collecting all the bottles, emptying the ashtray, and airing out the place. When she was finished, she sank onto the sofa.
    Spot whimpered. The poor thing needed to go out. She seriously considered calling her mother’s sister to tell her that she couldn’t handle things anymore. But she decided that she didn’t dare; her mother would be furious. Yet what would happen if she kept on drinking like this? She risked losing her job, and then what?
    Fanny didn’t have the energy to think about that. Soon she wouldn’t have the energy for anything at all.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 22
    The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm cinnamon rolls swept over Knutas as he stepped into the conference room the next morning. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble. He glanced at Kihlgård. It must have been him, of course. Everyone sitting at the table was in a lively mood. Jacobsson was joking with Wittberg, who had evidently been out partying last night. Knutas surmised that he was entertaining Jacobsson with a story about one of his girlfriends. He had a bottle of Coca-Cola in front of him, which was a clear sign that he had a hangover.
    Kihlgård and Smittenberg were both leaning over a newspaper. The prosecutor was holding a pen in his hand, while Kihlgård was holding a roll, naturally. Good Lord, they were working on a crossword puzzle! Norrby and Sohlman were standing at the window, looking out at the rain mixed with hail and discussing the weather.
    It was a virtual cocktail party. Incredible what effect fresh-baked goods could have.
    Knutas took his usual place at one end of the table and loudly cleared his throat, but no one took any notice.
    “All right, everyone,” he ventured. “Shall we start?”
    No reaction.
    He gave Kihlgård a surly look. This was so typical of that darn fellow. To come here, all sweet and nice, bringing rolls and causing a disruption. Knutas had nothing against people enjoying themselves at work,